Anomalies
by notinacreepyway
Summary: Jim knows there's something wrong with him after Tarsus. He's sure of it. His suspicions are confirmed when he is invited to the Pike Institute - a prestigious private academy in San Francisco. And it's there that Jim finds something he never expected. (Eventual Jim/Spock; so much AU. Vague crossover with X-Men).
1. i

**Possibly triggering content: death, blood, panic attacks, eating disorders. Please be careful if you decide to read this fic!**

* * *

**i.**

* * *

It's on the sixth day of Iowa that James Tiberius Kirk realises he doesn't give a fuck anymore.

It's not a conscious notion - not a decision he decides to make and reinforce. It just sort of _is_.

You see, the first few days out of hospital he eats and eats and eats until he throws up medicines and food, tasting far worse on the way up than they ever did on the way down. (But at least he's not throwing up a mixture of bile and blood, like T'Lania had on Tarsus. And now she's dead, and sometimes he sits there on the bathroom floor and laughs until he cries. He takes the pain medication again after - he's not stupid. There's no need to endure unneeded pain, after all.)

The alcohol that Jim is sure has been in the house miraculously disappears, too; even in his mother's secret hiding place where he and Sam had once gotten drunk on vodka and lemons. The sharp knives and forks are gone; food is either prepared or doesn't need a knife. There isn't even bleach anywhere in the house, no matter how hard he tried to search for it.

He could starve himself. He could walk out into the Iowa nothingness and not look back. He could run a bath and stick his head under.

It all seems kind of pointless. Too much effort.

No way out.

So instead, by the sixth day of forced isolation, Jim barely exists, and every time chocolate or sweets appears in the cupboards, they don't last long. He layers them at the bottom of his backpack and suitcase and under his bed, a small mass that steadily grows.

It takes him seventeen days before he's bored of Iowa.

It's not boredom precisely. It's more like homesickness, or nostalgia - but for a place he's never known, because he's never known the house the way Sam or his mother or father did. All he's known is muted colours; paint peeling off walls; that rot in the upstairs bathroom. That's his home. Depressingly, it's the only home he's ever known.

(He doesn't feel sad, and knows that Tarsus broke him)

* * *

His existence settles into some sort of vague routine. Wake up in the morning; go downstairs, eat cereal and watch anything but the 9am news on the holoscreen in the kitchen. He avoids it now - even the five minute new updates between shows - because every time it mentions Tarsus, he feels physically sick. At least, he supposes, he's not throwing up his food anymore.

Sometimes he checks his PADD and social networking sites and games but the PADD is thrown away within minutes to somewhere where he can't see it. Everything that his former school 'friends' have to update about themselves is trivial; pathetic. It's ironic, just how different he is now. He was different from them before, but now... even more so. It makes him laugh, how petty they once were and how much they could affect him. He doubts anything can really affect him anymore.

Sometimes he goes out and looks at the animals and scrambles up trees like he did with Sam and eats peaches off the peach trees, scraping his knees, tearing holes in his shirts. He buries the peach pits; hopes that if anyone ever returns to this place in half a century, a tree will be there, burrowing up from the dirt.

Most mornings he goes back to bed because the world hurts too much, and has nightmares too many times to mention. After that, he doesn't get back to sleep.

* * *

It's on the tenth day of Iowa that Jim realises something isn't quite right.

He relives Tarsus when he doesn't want to and also when he does. He panics - a lot, although he'll never admit it - and every time it scares him, and every time he cries. But when he relives the moments when he's grasping someone's hand, or begging someone to stay alive - well, isn't it too good a coincidence that they managed to do just so? Isn't it odd how they managed to keep going, just for him?

And then he gets a message saying that Thomas Riley is no longer, and he dismisses the thought.

* * *

He wakes up one evening to the sound of dust brushing the fields outside his house. The quilts are thick and sticky against his skin and tangled around his legs and he throws them off, hearing them hit the floor with a _whumph_. His window is open - a breeze gusts against sweaty skin - and Jim sits up.

He's still trembling slightly.

Tarsus had been there in front of his eyes - rich and green and fertile and real and the smell of death and blood rises up around him, and the sky had twisted and there had been his father's body, a hole in his chest, but the face was laughing-

He runs his hands through his hair. His chest gives an involuntary sob, and then he's crying, pressing into the pillow, fists clenched in the material. It hurts. It hurts so much. He can barely breathe.

Eventually, the sobbing stops. He feels empty. Not even drained - just empty. Devoid of anything. It's like his heart isn't even beating - the only thing there's ever been is the sound of crickets chirping in the blackness of the night and the wind beating his curtains and his own heavy breathing in the dark.

* * *

It's on the twenty-sixth day of Jim Kirk's new life (if it even warrants that name) that he sees his mother for more than ten minutes since the hospital, almost a month ago. When he wakes up and stumbles downstairs she's sat at the kitchen table, eyes staring out at something Jim has long stopped trying to see himself.

"You need to get some more chocolate milk," he states, shoving two pieces of bread into the toaster. (He doesn't tell her that he's been storing up anything with a high calorie intake under his bed; he doubts he needs to. She already knows or doesn't care or both). Jim sits at the chair nearest the holoscreen and turns the ancient thing on, flicking over to one of the cartoon channels.

Winona takes minutes to wake up from her reverie. She blinks at him as though she's surprised he's there - and he doesn't really watch; only sees her out the corner of his eye - and his heart hurts in his chest. Of course she doesn't want him here, but then, she never has; she's only ever wanted George Kirk back to where he belongs.

Jim doesn't belong here.

"Jim, dear," Winona begins, and before she can continue he's up on his feet, snatching the bread out of the toaster, cursing under his breath as they burn the pads of his fingers. He doesn't want to talk to her - he doesn't want to talk to anyone about what happened on Tarsus. He's not interested. He told twelve psychologists in the hospital this, becoming more and more agitated and angry and swearing more and more - no, he doesn't want to, and he won't. (It hurts too much).

He grabs a plate from a cupboard; dumps the toast on the plate; grabs a practically blunt butter knife and the butter itself. He can feel Winona's eyes on his back but he doesn't care and begins to angrily butter his toast. It's rebellion - pathetic rebellion, but rebellion nonetheless, because there's nothing to rebel at here. He's sure he could scare the pigs or chickens away if he wanted, but that's a waste of food (and he can't waste food anymore the idea of it scares him he has to save up food stockpile it it has to be safe he can't starve he can't see people die of malnutrition-)

Jim takes a slow, shuddering gasp in. Lets it out. He perches on the end of the chair and shoves a piece of toast in his mouth, avoiding Winona's eyes.

She stares at him for several long seconds, and then his eyes meet hers, brilliant-blue to blue-grey. "Yes, mom?" the word tastes bitter in his mouth. She'd never been his mom. Just his mother. Or, really, Winona.

"What would you do," she begins, and the words come stumbling out of her mouth, tripping over one-another in their haste - "if you knew you could help someone, an awful lot, and they'd be a lot happier somewhere else - away from you - but you didn't want them to go?" And she looks at him - properly looks - searching for something she seems to find, and Jim realises just how old she is.

She's likely seen so much danger and anger and hate in her life. Probably more than Jim has in his short time of existence.

But then, she's not sixteen.

He takes another bite of toast.

He's not oblivious. He gets at what she's trying not to imply - that whatever she's trying to explain is about him, and his happiness, and his life, but if he's entirely honest he can't find it within himself to particularly care anymore. About anything.

This makes him less worried than he should be.

Instead, Jim shrugs. "It's just selfish," he gets out, feeling anger rise up inside, and Winona Kirk flinches at his tone. "If you know they're going to be happier somewhere else - and without you - then you're being selfish and not for the good reasons." He looks at her again, and she's even older now than she was before; she seems ancient.

Maybe she sees her dead husband in his eyes, watching him. With a great savagery Jim knows he possesses he hopes she does. He hopes she sees his ghost every time she looks at him, because his ghosts follow in his footsteps - people he could have only hoped to save.

He takes another bite of his toast and returns his attention to the holoscreen.

There's a cartoon on - and it's older than either him or Winona or the two of them combined, but he and Winona sit in silence, watching as the coyote tries and tries to catch the roadrunner in his traps, and fails everytime. A fitting analogy, he realises, so long as Kodos is the coyote and he is the roadrunner.

It hurts to think about, but he thinks about it anyway.

By the time his toast is finished, Winona is gone.

* * *

He sees her again the next breakfast - the twenty-seventh breakfast - (and this time she has chocolate milk, so he has that for breakfast with his cereal over normal milk) she looks nervous. Jim considers asking her about whatever is making her anxious, because not much can make Winona Kirk anxious, decides against it and drinks the bottom of the chocolate milk out of the bowl. He still hasn't thrown up since over a week ago, but relief sits in him nonetheless.

When the plastic bowl is back on the table, Winona gives him another long look and he meets her gaze evenly. Something is happening - correction: is going to happen. He isn't sure what, but he doesn't like the thought of it. And then, without prompting, she passes him an envelope.

It's an old fashioned one. He hasn't seen a paper envelope in forever - not since his tenth birthday, commemorating the 10th year that George Kirk had saved 800 lives (it also, surprisingly, happened to fall on Jim's tenth birthday. Funny how that worked out). There was writing on the front - actually written down instead of being stamped or printed onto the page - and Jim stares at the address and stamps for a long moment, mouth going dry. The handwriting is conservative; no extra loops or flourishes. Basic. Real.

How much must it have cost to write this and send it by hand?

He glances up at his mother, and Winona is giving him a look - a worried one. She's blinking a lot, and her hands are shaking a little, and she glances down at the envelope with purpose and then back up at him. "Open it," she says, and it's not an order.

He does. One finger into the side of the closing flap, he wriggles it and then drags it along. It's messy, but it does the job, and he turns the envelope upside-down, dropping out thick, heavy, real paper. He allows himself a fleeting look at his mother before carefully opening the letter, unfolding it, fingers brushing against the folded edges. It feels civilised. He hasn't felt civilised in a long time.

_Dear James Tiberius Kirk_, it reads in the same conservative, careful script. _By now you have probably gauged that this is no normal letter. That may be because it's not. From what I understand you are no normal child, and so I am inviting you to join a special private school, the Pike Institute. My name is Christopher Pike._

(And here Jim's heart does a little double-take; the Pike man been there, at the tenth anniversary in Starfleet uniform all cold and crisp and grey. Him and Winona had spoken in quiet voices, both of them shooting looks at him, and Winona had shook her head. Even then, Jim understood that something had been decided).

_I am going to attempt to keep to the point here. From what I understand about what happened on Tarsus, you no longer need Iowa. Personally, I think it was a bad place for your mother to raise two sons, but that is not my place. If you decide to accept my offer, you will be moving out to San Francisco on the next shuttle flight out. I am afraid I can only give you one offer at this chance. If you choose to not join, then you will not get another chance to._

_You have to understand that the Institute is no normal place. It's a private school, yes, but I assure you, you will not be alone in your suffering. Some may have suffered different, but you have all struggled. All will be revealed in time._

_If you decide to accept, here is a ticket for the next shuttle out. I apologise for the lack of information, but everything will be explained in time._

_Regards,_

_Captain Christopher Pike._

He looks up at his mother. The letter is vague, and basic, and doesn't tell him anything about his life; doesn't tell him what he's going to learn, or if he's going to be groomed for Starfleet, or _anything_. But it's better than here. And, he supposes, if he's just going to exist, he may as well try to enjoy himself while doing so. It's better than Iowa and memories he never had the chance to make.

"I'm going."

She bursts into tears.

* * *

The shuttle ride is long and dull. By the end of hour one Jim's prehistoric PADD is out of battery and he sits there, curled up in a blanket that Winona had pressed into his hands before he clambered on, wishing he was anywhere else but here. Shuttle flights make him somewhat nervous, he realises, but he packed the food shash into his suitcase along with the remainder of his clothes.

It's pathetic, but the chocolate in his backpack reassures him. He opens a packet, snaps off a piece, and sighs.

The flight is about three hours. It's a twenty-seven hour drive, but with a shuttle flight there's no stops. You can't even stand up. So he runs a hand through his hair and looks around

There's another kid next to him - dark hair, blue eyes, and he looks nervous. Almost as nervous as Jim feels. "I may throw up on you," he warns suddenly.

Jim pauses and frowns. "It's a bit late for that, isn't it?" he asks. An hour into the flight. Brilliant.

The guy gives him a dirty look - as though yes, he's already realised that, thank you and goodnight.

"So-" Jim says suddenly, "what are you flying when you clearly hate it?"

He seems all too willing to respond. "My dad married this woman," he explains, a slight drawl adding to his tone, "and she decided in her infinite wisdom that it was time for me to move out."

He shrugs, picks up a hipflask from his belt and takes a swig; offers it to Jim. Whisky hits Jim's tongue and burns down his throat, all too familiar, but he doesn't complain. He'll take whatever alcohol he'll get. "So now," the guy continues, "I've been invited to this place at a fancy private school, y'know, the whole - shebang - all to get away from that bitch." He pauses for a long moment - they both do. "Leonard McCoy."

"Jim Kirk," Jim introduces himself with a nod. A fancy private school - well, that sounds familiar - but he doesn't doubt that there are thousands of private schools in the San Francisco area. McCoy could be going to another just as easily. So he shuts his mouth, and offers him a piece of chocolate instead.

* * *

He shuffles off the shuttle with the crowd two hours later; moves from temperature controlled air conditioning into the warm weather that San Francisco offers. It's not _Jesus shit, please stop_ heat but it's still warmth and Jim drops the blanket from his shoulders, shoving it into his backpack before looking around.

The clock on the wall tells him the time is 11:15am - a two hour time difference, then, because when they took off it was about 10am in Iowa. He glances around the shuttleport, seeing beings of different species and genders - far more than he ever has anywhere else - and decides he probably looks ridiculously lost.

McCoy looks as equally as lost, and Jim offers him a smile, looking around, until he spots the guy he's looking for - Chris Pike. He hasn't changed much since the last time he saw the man - he's maybe a bit greyer around the edges; more wrinkles; but then Jim's not seen the guy in six years. His face is lined - smile lines crinkle at the edge of his eyes - but Jim knows for sure that this guy is going to take absolutely no bullshit whatsoever. With determination, he beelines towards him, pushing his way past people in the politest way possible. He's been on a shuttle for three hours; you can't exactly expect him to be cordial.

He finally reaches the other side of the hububb of people in the shuttle port and gets over to Pike. "Jim Kirk," he greets the guy, feeling worry constrict his heart. The last time he had met an adult they had destroyed his trust - destroyed any notion of trust that could even be imagined.

"At ease, ensign," Pike returns with something of a smirk on his face, and without warning offers his hand out to Jim. Jim shakes his hand, the worry settling deep, and if Pike looks surprised - well, neither of them comment on it.

"Leonard McCoy," the kid from the shuttle says suddenly, giving Jim a look that says _what are you doing here?_ "You're the escort for the Pike Institute?" McCoy glances at Kirk, then at Pike, eyebrows raised in universal incredulity.

"I'm Chris Pike," Pike explains, and McCoy looks surprised. "Right - The Pike Institute is about five minutes by shuttlecar - we're on the edge of San Francisco - and so long as you don't majorly fuck up, we won't kick you out onto the streets." Jim manages a smile at that while Leonard looks merely looks concerned.

He shakes his head. Jim gets the vague feeling this is going to be excellent.

* * *

**Hey there! Thanks for reading chapter one. **

**I took the liberty of changing some things from canon and stealing bits from both universes; although in TOS Jim is 13 when he goes to Tarsus, here he's sixteen. That's just for me and for me not to feel immensely guilty. Other things will be revealed in time.**

**Thank you to my butts of friends for making me write this (im looking at u, katie, nardiar, casey nd tribble. im looking at u)**

**Reviews would be liked, although not needed. Please don't feel obligated to write a review! Even favouriting helps keep me motivated.**


	2. ii

**ii.**

* * *

San Francisco is a lot richer and greener than Iowa ever was. Iowa was nice - but in a sort of middle-of-bumfuck-nowhere nice; a state, he supposes, you have to get through to get to Chicago or Denver. You don't stay in Iowa if you don't have to.

He doesn't have to anymore.

Pike, Jim finds, is surprisingly liberal. He opens the windows on the hovercar and Jim sticks his head out much like a dog, grinning as the wind hits him in the face. That, is, until a bug hits him straight in the eye. His head moves quite quickly back into the hovercar after that, along with some muffled curses.

"Kirk," Pike explains, "you'll be rooming with Spock." He catches Jim's eye in the rear-view mirror. "We'll give you a few days to settle in, make friends - I don't know what you do in your spare time apart from set hospital beds on fire - but the two of you should get on swell." And there's something careful and mocking in the last word, so Jim pays attention, and the look that Pike is giving him is calculated - brilliantly so - so Jim sensibly decides to shut his trap.

"McCoy, you'll be roomed with a young gentleman named Scotty. He's... well, different." Pike shrugs and turns off the junction. They go under an overpass before Pike speaks again. "You'll be starting lessons tomorrow, unlike Mr Kirk here."

There is silence.

Pike does not appear to feel inclined to put on the radio, so Kirk closes and then stares out the window, watching as San Francisco is slowly but surely eaten away. The city, he realises, is not huge and sprawling, but cramped close - fitting tightly on the island. The Golden Gate itself was built over 300 years ago, and the thought of that makes Jim pause. That's... amazing.

They drive for another five minutes before someone speaks again. It's McCoy. "So... what about our... abilities?" There's an emphasis on the last word; a careful, clever one. It makes Jim pause.

Pike glances up; meets their gazes sharpy in the rear-view mirror. Jim can feel his eyebrows furrowing into a frown before Pike's gaze moves to McCoy. "What about them?" he asks, and there's far too much nonchalance in the sentence for Jim to believe a word of it.

"I mean - we're all here for a reason." It's a statement; not a question. "And I know that it's not _normal_. None of us are normal, damn it!" He looks cross, and worried, and somehow - old, and Pike is giving him a look. Something is communicated between their glance, and Pike shakes his head; a tiny, subtle movement, and McCoy's lips seal. It's a harsh, unhappy line, and Jim gets the feeling that it will be spoken about later, but he is kept in the dark.

Abilities. The worry grows. (And Jim wonders if this has something to do with Tarsus - but then, everything has something to do with Tarsus and he doesn't want to think about it, so he doesn't, and the grip on his bag lessens as the ache in his heart lessens too. He ignores the look McCoy gives him).

They silence is resonate now; it echoes around the hovercar, if that's possible, and McCoy keeps giving Jim tentative looks out of the corner of his eyes. He looks worried (if Jim weren't so cynical, he'd perhaps apply the word concerned to the expression). Instead, he stays stubbornly silent and wonders what is that much of a big deal to warrant keeping the information away from him.

Without warning, they turn off the road and suddenly they're ascending up a steep hill. Urban San Francisco vanishes from out Jim's window and is instead replaced by neatly cut bright green grass, water sprinklers and the occasional tree. "Where are we?" he asks, the words spilling out of him - wasn't he sulking? He was pretty sure he was - before he can stop them.

"This is my school," Pike explains, and as they ascend the crest of the hill Jim can see down. The road they're on is tiny - only one vehicle could drive up or down it at any time - and either side of them are two glittering pools of water. Up above is a gate, with an energyfence that finishes just where the water begins, and then behind that what seems like miles and miles of empty, perfectly green land with a mansion sat, rather smugly, in the middle of it all.

"This used to be a golf course," Jim says with certainty.

Pike's eyebrows raise. "How could you tell?"

Jim shrugs; glances away. "I just know," he mutters. Usually he would brag and explain how the land is too flat; how the colour of the grass is not the colour that is sold anymore, but the look McCoy is giving him is pissing him off ever so slightly and he feels uncharacteristically shy.

"How did you get hold of the place?" McCoy drawls. "I mean - how did you buy it? I think that an old golf course in the middle of San Francisco wouldn't exactly be cheap."

Pike just turns in the seat and grins at them both. "Being the Captain of a Starfleet starship helps matters," he explains, and that is apparently that - as though that explains everything.

The hovercar makes its way over to the front gate. Pike opens the window; presses an intercom - an old fashioned one - and speaks into the microphone, words unintelligible. With a huge rattling, screaming squeak, the gates open inwards. "Last chance to escape, gentlemen," Pike offers, and the hovercar moves forwards.

McCoy glances at Jim. "One way in."

He blinks down at his hands, twisted and folded in his lap. "One way out," he mutters as a response, and Pike doesn't give any indication that he's heard either of them.

* * *

The house itself is massive - far bigger than it looked from the outside - and Jim finds himself clutching at his bags. He feels a lot like he did when he first arrived at Tarsus, and the thought makes him sick so he shoves it away and follows after Pike.

The front door is unlocked, and Jim follows after the two taller men, looking up and around. The house is old - it looks like something built in the early twenty-first century; all glass walls and designed for heat conservation and sustainability.

Inside the room there is a girl. She can't be more than fifteen or so - blonde hair cropped into a no-nonsense bob, blue eyes watching them carefully. She's dressed carefully, and cleanly - she wouldn't look out of place in a catalogue, actually. "Hey, Carol," Pike greets easily.

"Who're these two?" she asks, and then smooths down her already immaculate skirt. Jim gives McCoy a glance who looks just as confused as he feels, but he responds anyway.

"Jim Kirk," Jim explains, nodding at her, and she doesn't blush - just looks surprised. McCoy introduces himself too, and she nods, looking them over carefully.

"Excuse me," she says politely, turns on one flat-clad heel and then disappears into the guts of the house. Jim is pretty sure that if his eyebrows go any higher they'll become part of his hairline.

"So - anyway-" Pike looks serene and unperturbed, "Kirk, you're in room 57 with Spock. You'll have a great view. McCoy, you're down the hall - room 23. Dinner's at six. Pavel's deciding what we have tonight, so it's gonna be interesting. Feel free to do what you want." He pushes open a door, and then he's gone.

McCoy voices exactly what Jim's thinking: "What the fuck?"

* * *

Room fifty-seven turns out to be exactly the opposite of what Kirk was expecting. He was expecting a large room - four poster beds - Harry Potter style. Instead, there are two pathetically rickety beds on either side of the room; the walls are carefully whitewashed, and when Jim opens the window he supposes that an underweight sixteen year old human could fit through the crack if the room itself wasn't on the third floor.

Jim toes off his shoes, dumps his bags under his bed and sits on it, the unmade sheets becoming quickly unfolded in a pile next to him. He looks around carefully. The bed opposite looks perfectly made - hospital corners and all - and above his new roommate's bed is a bookshelf spilling over with books - not just in English, he notes, but other languages. He grasps a few of the languages but others? No chance.

The wall below is painted with what looks like blackboard paint, and scrawled down in chalk is a language that Kirk is sure he can't read. He stares at it for a moment, trying to make out words and letters - and no. Apparently he can't read whatever that language is.

He stands back up. The wood is cold against his feet (because he doesn't have any socks, and the absurdity of it all very almost makes him laugh) so he goes back over to the window and leans out of it, staring out at San Francisco. He can see and vaguely hear the city from here - and, as much as Jim is loath to admit it, it is a great view. The tightly packed city, skyscrapers rising up into the distance, shuttles landing faster than he can count. It's pretty, and it's different from Tarsus or Iowa, and that is most likely the best thing.

* * *

He does his sheets as best he can - well for a sixteen year old, but nothing like Spock's sheets and unpacks what little possessions he owns. His clothes are shoved into what he presumes are his chest of drawers, due to the fact they're empty and next to his bed. The blanket his mother gave him is thrown onto the bed.

He leaves the chocolate and sweets in the bottom of his bags, secure in the knowledge that if this Spock guy is anything like his room portrays him to be, there is no chance of him rummaging through Jim's stuff anytime soon.

He shoves his shoes back on and closes the door behind him. A couple of kids run past and Jim pushes himself into a wall, watching them zoom past. Neither of them can be older than - well, eight or nine - and both of them are running faster than Jim ever could. On the way down the staircase he passes a girl with white hair and black eyes who is talking into a communicator faster than Jim can keep up with. When he gets to the bottom of the stairs and turns left, darts past a boy who currently has his shirt off and a pair of wings casually sat on his back, and slides onto the breakfast bar stool next to McCoy. "What the hell is happening here?" McCoy asks numbly.

"Well, he did say it was a special school," is all Jim responds, and finds himself accepting this a lot more easily than he thought he would.

* * *

The two of them explore the grounds, and Jim can feel his eyes widen more and more with every step they take. Yeah, Pike had said it was a special school, but he hadn't expected it to be this different. He didn't expect a guy to be able to change his skin from human to snake at will, or to go about parading this, lounging out in the warm San Francisco sunshine and look smug about his snake's tongue. (And still a little voice rings out in the back of his head: better than Iowa and yeah, that's true, because at least it's not boring here).

"What's your drug of choice, then?" Jim asks him, because there must be something odd about him - something different enough to warrant him coming to this school - and although he'll never admit it, he's internally panicking and freaking out because there must be something different about him (something wrong with him, his mind corrects, because he's been broken ever since he landed back on Earth, and these kids are normal - they're different, but they're normal, and he's not normal and the days spent in the darkness and the chocolate under his bed only serve to remind him of that).

"What do you mean by that?" McCoy's giving him an odd look again, so Jim gives him a radiant smile in return.

"What's your... power?" He waves his hand around somewhat airily.

McCoy regards him with silence for several steps before he speaks. "I fell off a balcony in my dad and step-mom's new home," he explains. "Twenty foot drop. I hit the ground with a crunch, apparently - ambulances, everything. And as they watched, my body... rebuilt itself?" He paused for a second, feet stilling, and Jim stands next to him, watching his face carefully. "Fixed every fracture, knitted back together flesh - you get the idea. So my step-mom kicked me out." He fixes Jim with a long stare, blue eyes dangerous under heavy eyebrows. "You're not gonna go running or screaming, else I'd have to use a Vulcan Nerve Pinch on you."

"You don't know the Vulcan Nerve Pinch." Jim almost - almost - rolls his eyes.

There's something at the corner of McCoy's mouth. Amusement, maybe? "I do. I'm not afraid to use it."

"Shhhhhh, Bones."

"Bones?"

"Yeah. Cuz you fixed all your Bo-o-ones."

"Yeah. Okay." His tone doesn't sound happy about the nickname, but he sounds somewhat unwillingly accepting, so Jim grins to himself. They wander for a little longer, soaking in the sunshine, and then Bones speaks again. "Are you - The Jim Kirk?" The capitalisation is there, and Jim can tell it is.

"You mean the Jim Kirk that had his dad, George Kirk, die to save eight-hundred members of a crew and his newborn son?" He glances at Bones, waiting for an expression of disgust to cross his face, or of anger, but there isn't any - he's just waiting for a reply. "Yeah - I'm that Jim Kirk," he confirms with a shrug, foot scuffing the floor.

Jim doesn't get any of the usual responses from Bones; not, 'I'm sorry', or, 'Your dad was so brave' or 'What was he like?' because all of them are pointless and stupid and he hates them. Instead, he just gets a nod. "That must have been hard," Bones admits, and Jim feels his heart release a little of the worry, and acceptance washes over him, warm and safe.

"Yeah," he agrees softly, "it still is."

Neither of them say anything more.

* * *

Eating at the Pike Institute seems to be less of a calm affair and more like rabid wolves going in for the kill. Jim just watches as adults and students alike pour into the room, grab food, and then disappear. "Why aren't they in lessons?" he asks quietly.

"Jim, it's a Sunday."

Oh. Well then. That just showed how much he cared post-Tarsus.

The selection tonight is a strange mix - sushi, vegetables, and a huge array of sweet pastries. The two of them join the fray, grabbing whatever they can get and joining the others at the huge table. It's long, with big benches either side of it (and although Jim's room doesn't remind him of Hogwarts, this certainly does). He pours himself a glass of water out of a large jug, Bones opposite him, and his eyebrows raise. "How many kids do you suppose come here?"

Bones glances around. "Dunno," he shrugs. "I wouldn't say more than fifty or so, though. It seems like a pretty... elite school." If elite counts a kid making a seed on his plate grow into a plant, then yeah - it is pretty elite. Bones looks at him for a long, hard second before his mouth opens. "What's your power?"

Jim clears his throat; takes another mouthful of food. This is going to be... uncomfortable. "Dunno," he admits with a shrug. At least he's honest. The look Bones is giving him says otherwise, though. "No - seriously - I don't have a clue." He pokes at a pea with his fork; its skin splits under his prodding.

Bones doesn't say anything else, but he's giving off an air of unimpressed resignation. Jim grins into his glass of water.

Before Jim can even begin to think of a suitable retort, a kid slides into the space next to him. Blue eyes; a mop of curls atop his head; the kid can't be any older than ten or so. "Are you new?" he asks, and his face is alight with excitement, words lilted with a slight Eastern European accent.

Bones glances at Jim, and then returns to his food. Oh, Jim gets what's happening here. Thanks, Leonard. Thanks a lot.

"Yeah," he confirms. "My name is Jim - that's Bones."

"Leonard McCoy," Bones corrects, and then goes back to his food. Bastard.

The kid's grin grows impossibly wider; blue eyes sparkle like a kid on some sort of TV show. "My name is Pavel Chekov," he greets. "I'm twelve, and I don't have an ability. I'm just smart."

"Did you pick what we ate?" Jim asks with a note of curiosity in his tone, and Chekov clearly picks up on it because he nods.

"That," he points to a piece of food on Jim's plate, "is kalva. It was invented in Russia." He looks so earnest and serious when he says it, and Jim tries his best to repress a smile.

"Why is there sushi?" Bones asks.

Chekov gives him the most innocent look he can manage. "It was also invented in Russia."

"Dammit," is all Bones mutters, and Jim does smile this time.

* * *

Chekov, apparently, has unlimited enthusiasm about the world as a whole because he quickly drags the two of them outside, chattering happily. He's a bright kid - that much is obvious - and when he slips from fractured English into Russian, Jim happily follows.

Chekov's chattering speeds up then, and Jim somehow manages to keep a grasp on it. His own accent is apparently 'poor', but Chekov promises to give Jim Russian lessons - which he can't shake off, no matter how hard he tries. In between all this, he attempts to introduce Jim to people - which, if Jim is honest, isn't the most successful of endeavours.

"What about Spock?" he finds himself asking Chekov. Bones has long disappeared, and Jim can't tell if he's speaking Russian or English or a broken mix of the two anymore.

Chekov looks at him for a long moment, and he looks solemn. "He's on Vulcan," he explains. "He should be back tonight." That is that.

* * *

It's only when he falls asleep that evening does he realise that in less than twenty-four hours he's been tied down to this place - he's been anchored, willingly or not - and he's not sure if it makes him cross or not.

* * *

_Tarsus is - overexposed. Like someone has gone into Photoshop and adjusted all the colours. The sky is too blue - it flickers in and out of focus, like static on a holoscreen. The green burns his eyes, bright and radioactive. The world tilts under his feet and somehow he stays upright, his breathing heavy in his ears. In the distance there is the sound of screaming and gunfire._

_All he knows is that he needs to keep moving._

_The world moves past him in a blur, and the sound of static comes into his hearing, and the crackling in his eyes superimposes until the world is a blur, until it comes into focus. There is red everywhere, and he knows what it means - and he doesn't want to - and she's tiny, curled in on herself, lips open, eyes blank and unseeing, and then the bodies are piling up around him, and he watches as they move towards him, gazes unfocused, and -_

* * *

**Hey there! Thanks for reading. Updates should be every Sunday or Wednesday.**

**If you see any major fuck ups/typos/etc, please feel free to inform me.**


	3. iii

**iii.**

* * *

Jim wakes up to find himself tangled in his sheets, legs trapped, chest cold. He can feel the sweat in his hair, pouring down his back. He grimaces, panting in the dark, but the smell of his sheets are warm and new and clean in his nose and he drinks it in.

"Please be calm," says a quiet voice, and into sharp view comes a face, but still blurred around the edges, and he doesn't even have time to process it or protest because his heartbeat picks up just as he feels warm fingers press against his face. Forehead, cheekbone, jaw; a murmured phrase; the world comes alive.

He feels his heartbeat settle just as fast as it had picked up but he's not near his body or anywhere near his chest; he's in darkness, and it should feel suffocating and awful and dangerous and scary and it's none of these things - none of them at all - and he takes a shuddering breath in; another out. Calm settles within him. He's warm, and safe; cocooned in darkness, and he knows he could curl here and not move again, because this - this is lovely. It's the safest he's felt in what feels like a long time.

"Sleep," a voice says gently, and suddenly he's back in him again - himself, with the window open and sheets tucked up around him like Winona would do when he was littler - and he obeys.

There are no more nightmares that night. He will be convinced for a long time that it was a dream.

* * *

He gradually wakes up the next morning. It's a step-by-step thing, slowly growing more and more awake. He doesn't want to get up or out of bed. Not really.

It's when he realises his mouth tastes like a cat has gone for a good rummage through it that he grimaces and sits up. It's dry, and tastes absolutely disgusting, and Jim shudders to himself. He just hopes a toothbrush has been provided, because he sure as hell doesn't have one.

He glances over at the bed next to him. The bed is made - yeah, but it's not to the creepy standards of last night. The duvet is crumpled, like someone had hastily thrown it out so it was covering the whole bed, and there's a dent where a head would go in the pillow.

There are also even more books on the bookshelf (and Jim vaguely wonders what would happen if it fell). The words on the chalkboard have been scrubbed out, replaced by math. He flicks over the equations, getting the crux of it, and then sighs. Well, Spock's clearly back from Vulcan, and didn't even bother to greet his new room-mate.

And if Jim's honest... well, it... it freaks him out a little. There's clearly been someone sleeping in that bed - there's been someone there - and he hasn't seen them, and the window is open and he didn't do that, and someone was there, barely a meter and a half away when he was sleeping, and Jim knows why he didn't sleep on Tarsus -

He grabs his backpack. The chocolate is still there.

He eats a bar to get rid of the panic and the cat taste. He sits there for half an hour, licking the chocolate off his fingers, before he can even contemplate going downstairs.

But he manages it.

* * *

He feels sick when he goes downstairs. Chocolate and toothpaste, apparently, doesn't mix. The taste of them together in his mouth are absolutely disgusting, but he knows he won't throw up like those first few days of Iowa. He's sure of it. He's confident as to what he can cope with and what he can't, and toothpaste and chocolate are firmly on the 'can' list.

There are no friendly faces around the table - most of them are adults with a few older looking kids spaced between them - and Jim knows when to pick his fights, so he grabs some toast, avoids the chocolate spread and sits down, adding unhealthy amounts of sugar and milk to his coffee. Really, there are more adults around the table than there are kids, actually - and none of them look particularly scholarly or even close to teacher-like. Actually, thinking about the oddities - there seem to be no uniforms; no set rules. Everyone seems happy to use their powers whenever they want, for matters trivial or not. And there seems to be no allowance or limit to money for anyone; they just seem to get what they want, when they want. It's not even a matter of selfishness; it's just a matter of necessity. He wonders what sort of joint Pike is running, or what he's done to be able to afford all of... this.

Actually, he wants to talk to Pike. He's not gifted - not special like so many of the other kids appear to be - and not even in conventional ways. (This, naturally, excludes Chekov, but then, Jim doesn't doubt for a minute that the kid is incredibly smart if he has the intelligence to talk to sixteen year olds without sounding like an utter idiot.) And - anyway - the place seems relatively safe, and there's food, and there's many things Jim Kirk can do but think about long-term plans is not one he can manage. Not after Tarsus.

He sighs to himself. He'll talk to Pike if he gets chance, but he's not going to go out and search for the guy.

Decision made, Jim picks up his other piece of toast and goes for a wander.

* * *

He realises within a few minutes of walking the silent hallways that everyone else is in lessons, and Pike had mentioned that he would be given some days to settle in (and Jim can't help but wonder why). Instead of going back to bed, he decides to continue on his journey. He can hear snippets of lessons when he presses his ear to closed doors, so when he gets to the end of what seems like a never ending corridor, presses his ear against the one of the double doors and hears silence, he tries the doorknob.

The doors are unlocked; they open smoothly to what looks like every nerd's secret fantasy, Jim's included. A library.

A fucking massive library. He takes a hesitant step in, and another, and then begins to walk, carpet soft and springy under his feet.

He feels like Belle out of Beauty and the Beast for a moment because holy shit, who can afford this many books? And not PADDs - real, honest to God books. The place smells like them and looks like them and if Jim didn't have sinfully sticky fingers from a combination of chocolate and breakfast he would be stroking every spine he passes. Even he has respect for books. You don't put jam on books.

His roommate - Spock - might have had even two dozen books, but that's about the size of a normal collection. Jim knows they must have cost a fortune, but they're not that rare.

A full library with more books than he could count is rare. Incredibly so. And more than likely worth more credits than two generations of his family had earnt in their entire combined lifetimes.

He wanders for a short while and then sits down at a random desk towards the edge of the room. If he looks up, the floor above seems to be a balcony that follows the outside of the first floor - also full of books. Oh, man - his life has taken a turn for the best at this school. There's food and books - real books; ones he hasn't seen since Winona decided to have a spring clean and go into the attic, only to discover dozens of George's old books.

Jim had snuck up there over the next few months and read them in succession; Alice in Wonderland, Harry Potter, The Lord of the Rings. They were all accessible on PADDs, but even little Jim knew that real books were so much better than PADDs ever could be. And now he's in a library, and he could take all the books he wanted, and he never thought he'd think it, but he's grateful to Winona for sending him here. Just for the books.

(It's sad, but it's true).

* * *

It doesn't take Jim long to find a bathroom and to wash his hands before he's back in there, grin illuminating his face. He browses the novels, grabbing as many unfamiliar hardbacks and paperbacks as he can manage in one go and piles them onto a desk, sitting down as comfortably as possible. Heaven. This is heaven.

He's not sure how long he reads, quite happily lost in the words until the sound of someone putting books onto the same desk makes him glance up. They're on the opposite side of the desk, several seats down, but he thought the place was empty. Surely people should be in lessons?

Surprise sparks through him.

His gaze meets a pale face, brows heavy over dark eyes, hair cut into something that makes Jim think of bowls and not enough money to go to the hairdressers. Then he notices the tapered ears; slight green tinge to his skin...

A Vulcan. Well, this is a nice surprise. Jim barely spares the poor guy any thought and returns to his books. After all, there are adults and kids with supernatural abilities in what is supposed to be a private school. Vulcans aren't that much of a stretch when push comes to shove.

Of this, this entirely disregards the fact that he doesn't ignore the guy. It doesn't take him long before he glances up from behind his book. The kid looks about his age, actually - maybe a little older - and he's flicking through books. The only Vulcan he ever met is gone but she was tiny, and graceful, and it burns his heart to think of her but this guy - he's actually shaking, and looks far too human; prone to human mistakes. And then his eyes flick up; meet Jim's. It's like a bite.

His eyes are brown, and human, and a flash of recognition and surprise crosses his face before it's gone; carefully blank, but he doesn't look away. It's a long moment, and it's dangerous - and Jim isn't even sure why, because Vulcans are the most intelligent, least irrationally violent lifeforms out there - and then Jim goes back to his book, and so does the Vulcan.

The encounter lingers on Jim's mind far longer than should be allowed. (And inside he panics a little, because the last Vulcan he met was T'Laina and now she's gone and he doesn't want to know if this Vulcan knew her because it would break Jim's heart more than he could ever express).

* * *

At lunch, he goes to the dining hall and seeks out Bones. Bones appears to have made a friend - Scotty; the same guy he's rooming with. Scotty seems brilliant, if slightly insane, and rambles on in a Scottish brogue about engineering. Jim keeps up, much to the repeated surprise of Bones (and he can speak Russian, so really, it should be expected of him to understand physics) and resists the urge to glance around because the guy from the library is still in his head and it's pissing him off slightly.

Seriously. It's more annoying than should be permitted.

"What happened with Pike, then?" Jim asks suddenly, and Bones frowns.

"How do you know about that?"

"I don't." Jim presents him with a blinding smile. "I guessed."

Bones rolls his eyes, and Scotty laughs, but he is indulged anyway. "He showed me around. Told me about the place. We have weekly sessions checking our powers and having blood tests and whatever, but apparently it's all confidential." Bones' tone tells Jim all he needs to know about his opinion on that matter.

"What about the thing you wanted to know about in the hovercar?" Jim asks, curiosity piqued.

Bones just looks at him, mouth a thin line. "He told me." Oh. Well then.

Before Jim can even think of a ghost of a retort, Chekov appears, holding the hand of an embarrassed looking guy that Chekov introduces as 'Karu' but who introduces himself as Hikaru Sulu. He's the guy that Jim saw yesterday, influencing that plant seed.

"So," Jim says suddenly, after the obligatory pleasantries, "what are everyone's powers?" Nothing like being subtle; he realises that, but Jim already knows Bones' and Sulu's, and wants to know everyone else's too. The different things they can all do... they're pretty interesting.

Chekov shrugs. "Like I said - I don't have any powers." He doesn't look embarrassed about it at all. "I'm just smart. They got annoyed with me in Moscow and sent me here instead."

Sulu's hand still seems to be stolen by Chekov, so he puts down his fork, explaining with his hands just as much as with his expressions. "Well - I've always known," he admits. "I was really small, and instead of doing homework I apparently grew some cress until it was about the size of wheat instead. Mom - well, she wasn't impressed."

They all laugh at that, but Chekov laughs the hardest.

Bones explains his story, and the laughter seems to drain out of them at that. Because, as Jim thinks about it, it was very likely that Bones, for a few medical moments, was dead. And also because he could be tortured over and over and over again and never ever find an end to it.

At least, in that regard, Jim is glad that Bones wasn't on Tarsus.

Scotty is the next to admit his. "I," he states, very loudly, "can manipulate computers. And anything vaguely electronic, really." He pauses and glances around the tables. "I'm looking for an electronic sacrifice for a good cause," he explains in a mock-whisper, "but everyone knows what I'm like, so I can't show you right now." He grins wildly and Jim can't help but grin back; his enthusiasm is infectious.

"So, how about you?" Chekov asks, and the focus is on him now.

Jim just shrugs nonchalantly into his plate of food. "Dunno," he admits easily. He looks at the faces around him and bursts into amused laughter. "You're all giving me the same look Bones gave me yesterday. No - really, I don't know."

"Sometimes that happens," Chekov states. "Usually Mr Spock works it out, because of his power." And without being able to ask who Spock is, or why Jim hasn't even seen his own fucking roommate, the conversation moves on after that, and no matter how hard he tries he can't wrangle it back.

* * *

It still makes him uncomfortable - the idea that someone else sometimes sleeps in the same room that Jim does, and he hasn't even seen the guy - but when he wakes up the next morning the window is shut, none of his things have moved an inch and Jim hasn't had any nightmares. All in all, things are getting better.

He's up earlier this morning, and eats with his new found friendship group instead of by himself. He sits there, listening to whatever they have to say - and apparently Chekov has a lot to say, most of it pretty interesting.

"You should come to lessons," Bones points out over Jim's sickeningly sweet and milky second cup of coffee. "Also - that's disgusting. You'll have a heart attack before you'll even realise it, dammit!"

Jim just grins. "No-one's told me I have to go to lessons, so I'm not going to." Ah, yes, there it is; the 'little shit' side of him he's missed more than he'll admit.

Bones just gives him his most unimpressed look, which is pretty impressive, if Jim admits it. He's not going to admit it.

Instead, he gives Bones his most glowing smile. "I'll be in the library," he states, and before Bones can even voice another complaint he's gone.

* * *

He collects different books today. He didn't finish all the novels yesterday - but then, most of them he had decided weren't worth finishing. He sits in what he quickly decides will become his usual seat, the dozen or so books splayed around him on the wooden table. He had never really clocked it, but most of the things in the house are antiques; worth hundreds of credits on their own, and they're left in a school for schoolchildren to use. It unnerves Jim a little.

However when he hears a chair scrape out from the desk and glances up, his heart flutters. It's the same guy from yesterday, in the same spot from yesterday. He's not even sure why he's so enamored with the guy - he hadn't even heard him fucking speak - but there's some sort of fascination there. Creepy? Yeah, well, it kind of it. But his intentions are pure.

Don't look at him like that. They are.

The guy barely spares him a glance, unlike yesterday, and he also seems a lot more worried than he was yesterday. Not to say that he wasn't worried yesterday - shaking never means anything good for anyone (unless it's a reminder that you're still alive, and yeah, that still hurts). But today there is a little furrow between his eyebrows, and his body language reads tense with a side order of anxious, and he seems to be barely processing the words he's reading; more like he's just having the information transferred from book to brain.

"Can I help?" he blurts before he can even stop himself, and curses internally - because Vulcans are cold and hostile and clever. Not dangerous. Not even a threat. Just different.

And he doesn't get the response he's expecting. "I don't think so," the Vulcan says. "Not unless you know about Vulcan politics." And he does glance at Jim then, and there's some sort of softness in his eyes - a great loss - and Jim nods, lips tight, and goes back to his book.

The Vulcan is still desperately searching for whatever he's searching for by the time Jim leaves. He just hopes he can find whatever he's looking for.

* * *

Jim is surprisingly reserved that evening. He picks at his food, taking out everything he's allergic to and putting it to one side of the plate.

"Why do you do that?" Chekov asks suddenly. He's lacking Sulu tonight, but that was apparently because the guy was running one of his fencing workshops.

"Do what?"

"Put all those foods to the side."

Jim pauses. "I'm... allergic to them." He's not going to tell them that after being on Tarsus for so long that his body had lost all of its immunity and that he lay on a hospital bed with an IV in one arm and a heart monitor on the other, checking for any change in hormone levels or brain activity, because he had been so thoroughly fucked over they were pretty sure he was going to go into a coma. No siree.

Bones snorts. "Take an anti-allergy hypo, man," he says, derision clear in his tone.

"I'm allergic to those, too."

The look Bones gives him is of complete and utter disbelief. He can almost see the thought process. Jim grins at him, waiting for a response.

Bones just shakes his head in quiet resignation. Ha. Jim - 1, Bones - 0.

* * *

The rest of the week passes in the same fashion - suspicious lack of roommate, changing words on the chalkboard, seeing the Vulcan guy in the library and then not seeing him anywhere else. He's startled at how easily it is to fall into the routine of just existing. It's easy. He likes it.

The one thing that does concern him is his lack of clothes. He adds it to the list of things to mention to Pike when he gets a chance, because he has too much free time on his hands now and thinks a lot, and he really needs clothes more than anything else.

The nightmares, though - well, they come back in full force. They almost seem like they're worse, but Jim knows it's just because of the temporary lull. He wishes that whatever he did to make that dream-dude stop them would happen again, because they're awful. He hates every second of them.

He is startled out of his easy routing by the unannounced arrival of the girl from the first day. Carol - that was her name. Blue eyes and cropped blonde hair. She comes up to him one evening, eyes and expression grim.

"Pike wants to see you as soon as possible," is all she says, studying him with scientific curiosity. "He's upstairs - second door in the west wing." As quickly as she had arrived, she disappears.

"Well," Jim says with a sigh, getting to his feet, "I suppose I'll see you later."

"You're not gonna go now, are you?" Bones asks. "I mean - you're halfway through eating."

"I'll be fine," Jim passes off with a shrug. (He's lying through his teeth, but no-one needs to know that). He puts his hand on Bones' shoulder reassuringly.

Bones flinches like he's been struck by lightning. Jim takes his hand away quickly, clenching it into a fist and then putting it down by his side. That... was received well. Not.

"Sorry," he murmurs. Before anyone can say anything else - because, naturally, the atmosphere had to become awkward as fuck, he disappears into the crowd.

It also means he misses the long, considering look Bones gives him.

* * *

**Sorry for the late update! I went to see my dad and didn't have time to update... again, sorry! I hope this compensated adequately.**


	4. iv

**iv.**

* * *

Pike's office is surprisingly spacious; large and bright, a window behind his desk. Pike himself is sat at the desk already, and when Jim enters (without knocking, obviously) he doesn't look surprised. "Kirk. Sit down."

"I just thought you should know - I need some new clothes. And socks."

"Sit. Down."

Nothing like being rude, but Jim finds himself obeying.

"You seem to be doing okay," Pike says, considering him with steely eyes. This man isn't going to take any bullshit. Not an iota of it.

Jim finds himself shrugging. "Yeah, I guess." He's better than the train wreck they were no doubt expecting, and that's because the train wreck has been carefully contained. Jim knows this only because he was the one to contain it.

"You guess?" Pike's expression softens ever so slightly.

"I've made friends?" he suggest pathetically. He's good at these so called meetings usually - can bullshit his way through psychologists and doctors, expert level, but Pike is neither of those things and the rather pissed off expression the man is giving him tells him this painfully clearly.

"Jim."

"Oh, so we've moved onto first names now? Next thing I'll know we'll be moving in together-"

"Shut up." He doesn't even snap; just says it in what Jim guesses is his best Captain Voice, and it works, because Jim does actually shut up. "Listen, Kirk, you're here for a reason-" oh, and they're back to surnames all of a sudden "-and a goddamn good one at that. I wouldn't let you into this school without good reason. Why the fuck would I want a suicidal kid on my hands?"

"I'm not suicidal," Jim attempts to interject, "I just want - wanted - to die-"

"Same thing." And Pike's looking at him now - daring him to respond; to get angry; and if there is anything that James Tiberius Kirk is good at - oh man - it's responding to dares and getting angry. They would be his two specialist skills if he went on one of those stupid gameshows.

"Listen," he snaps, and this is his best Fuck You voice, and there's anger there - proper, _I'm seriously tempted to punch you in the face_ anger - and he can't even find it within him to give a shit because he's had too long of pretending to give a shit, and- "Stop trying to pretend that you give a flying fuck. Because you don't."

Oh, and the edges are sharp, and he's making them sharper because Pike flinches - actually flinches! - and Jim's got good now, so he's gonna keep going. "Where the fuck were you when my mom became depressed and I was left with an abusive alcoholic? Where were you when Tarsus went to the shit and I was forced not to eat for God knows how long? Where were you when I threw up into the basin of the toilet because I had to escape from hospital - because I knew if I was there much longer I wouldn't be leaving it?"

And Jim can't see Pike's face, and he doesn't want to, but his voice is hurt when he speaks; "They would have made you better-"

"They wouldn't have," Jim responds, and his voice is steely cold; dangerous, and there are many things in life that he will compromise on but this is most certainly not one of them. "How could they make me better from _that_?"

There is silence for a long moment, and when Pike speaks again the topic of conversation has moved on. Pike hasn't given in, Jim knows that full well - but he's given up for the moment. "You'll be starting lessons next week."

Okay. Yeah, that is a big topic change. "What?" That's also very eloquent, but his mind is still roaring with anger and he doesn't want to get cross when there's no need to.

"Well, not proper lessons." Pike pauses for a second; seems to rephrase it in his mind. "You'll be going into math and English lessons. Not any of the mutant lessons. You're not ready for that yet."

"Who said I wasn't ready?" His tone is cold, and Jim can't help but accept a challenge, especially when it's so obviously pointed out like that one is.

Pike smiles shrewdly. "You did. But Kirk, we need to get you settled in as quickly as possible. Trust me there."

But he has a question this time. "What... how did everyone get their powers?"

"Human mutations," Pike responds curtly. "Only Humans can manage this." He knows that Jim will understand what he means. Jim does.

He finds himself nodding, understanding it for the dismissal it is, and then he stands up, pushing the chair he had been sitting on back under the desk.

He's about to open the door when Pike speaks again. "Kirk?"

"Yeah?"

Pike smiles again. "We'll get you new clothes next time there's a shopping trip. But seriously you're mutated, just like everyone else here is." And then he waves his hand, and before Jim's - admittedly clever - brain can even start to process the implications of that statement, he finds the door is closed behind him and that he is in the corridor.

Well.

* * *

He finds Bones - because really, what else can he do apart from have a full blown freakout attack? - and sits next to the guy in one of the recreation rooms. Bones is watching Sulu and Chekov have a pool match, and Chekov's kicking Sulu's ass, but he can't even find it within himself to laugh. The anger has left him now, as quickly as it had arrived, and it just leaves him tired.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Bones drawls, but his eyes are wide.

"Probably," Jim laughs, and shakes his head like a dog tries to get rid of water. "Pike told me I'd be starting lessons in the morning." And really, he's less bothered by the power thing than he perhaps should be; after all, they've all got powers here, and Pike saved him from Iowa. He can't complain too much. "He told me I had powers." And yeah, really, he had accepted that a long time ago - he just wasn't willing to realise that.

"Well, of course," Bones confirms, amusement plain as day. "I knew that already."

Jim sits up and fixes him with a stare. "You know what my mutation is.

"I have an idea."

"Same thing. Tell me what you think."  
Bones shakes his head and laughs. "You're gonna have to have power realisation one day." There's a sort of glee in his words - you're going to have to suffer what I did.

Jim slumps back down. "You're a sadist."

"You're more of a masochist."

Yeah, okay. That's probably true.

* * *

He doesn't linger long in his room, but when he wakes up the next morning the sheets on the bed opposite are undisturbed and there's no new writing on the chalkboard, so he presumes no-one's been in there overnight. This reassures him more than it should, really.

The table downstairs is heaving with kids and adults alike, and Jim manages to find Sulu, clutching a potted plant, in the mass and sits next to him, grabbing whatever food he can find.

"Is it always like this?" he asks the other boy, who is currently putting several heaping spoonfuls of loose tea onto the soil of the plant. The plant itself is looking more and more happy every moment. If 'happy' can be applied to a plant. "Is... is it safe to do that?"

"Yes," Sulu replies, and doesn't look up. Jim doesn't bother asking which question he was responding to.

He wolfs down his breakfast and then manages to escape. He's not sure where to go, really - what lessons he has or where those lessons are - so he sort of just stands around, looking around awkwardly. It's - well, it's amusing to see everyone's powers. Or, from what he understands of them - _mutations_.

Because Humans were constantly evolving. They had been since their first appearance and they would until their last, and apparently part of these mutations meant that people could gain abilities. He wonders, for a moment, how this could happen; maybe Bones had a family that healed very quickly, and with the mutation, it just... emerged in him? He supposes that would work - likely with many complex algorithms that it's far too early to even start considering - but yes. That would work.

"Kirk." Well, that's one way to get him to stop thinking - calling him in such a snappy tone.

"Yes?" He glances around; it's the blonde girl. The somewhat creepy blonde girl. Really, he thinks somewhat guiltily, he should think of her with her given name, but she is more creepy than Carol.

"Pike wants you to come with me. You're going to be in lessons with me." She regards him carefully; she's not cold, but she's not exactly welcoming.

Jim nods. "Sure," he agrees. She leads him away, shoes clacking on wooden flooring, and he maps out the route in his head. He has no doubt that she isn't doing this out of the kindness of her own heart, so it's best to remember the route for next time.

She suddenly turns and opens a door, and Jim follows, glancing around. It's a huge room - absolutely massive - with big glass windows letting sunlight stream through. Outside he can see the grounds, and the only break in the energyfence, and through the distortion the energy makes is the vague shape of San Francisco.

"So - what's your power?" he asks Carol, in the empty room, and there's surprise on her face.

Almost impulsively she smooths down her trousers, and then glances back up. "You don't know."

"No?" Oh, God, has he made some sort of massive faux pas here? "Should I know?"

"I'm just surprised you haven't been told already," she admits, but there's amusement curling at the edge of her mouth. "I - uh - I have super strength."

Jim blinks for a second, and she looks concerned now - as though he's going to denounce her or burst out laughing. "That's pretty cool," he manages nonchalantly, and makes a mental note never to mess with Carol. Ever.

* * *

The teacher comes in and teaches them math, and Jim tries his best to pay attention when really, it's awfully simple. He doesn't make a comment, though - several people are looking at him with curiosity and he really has no intention of fucking up on his first day of what technically is school. He's been isolated from the system, but now he's in it and he better socialise and do well because - what else can he do?

After math, he follows the class to another lesson, which turns out to be English. This time, he's sat next to an empty seat on the left and a dark haired girl on his right. "Who's meant to be sat there?" he asks her a little awkwardly. She's absolutely gorgeous and regarding him with complete and utter contempt.

"Spock," she responds shortly, returning to her work, not even giving him a second glance.

Oh. Well, he's supposed to be seeing a lot of this Spock guy and hasn't even seen him once. It's beyond the realm of annoying now and into the stage of pissing him off.

"Why do you ask?" she asks suddenly, looking at him again with eyebrow cocked.

He clears his throat; tries his best not to blush like a twelve year old. "I'm supposed to be rooming with him," he explains lamely.

She looks surprised. "You're James Tiberius Kirk?" Well, there's nothing like having absolutely everyone how who you are without knowing anyone else. Yes. His favourite. Excellent.

"Jim," he corrects her. "Jim Kirk. And you are...?"

"Uhurua," is all she responds, but it isn't unkindly; it's just sort of matter of factly.

He earns a glare from the teacher, then, and scrawls something down - he's not even sure what, because admittedly he's never been the best at English (and he'll cite a too short of an attention span because, yeah, that's true). "Where is this Spock person?" he asks quietly, out the corner of his mouth.

She shoots him a fleeting glance. "Busy."

"With what? Busy enough to not come meet his new roommate?"

And her face shuts down at his tone, and when she looks at him again she is entirely calculating and calm and looks as though she has worked his every move out (she wishes). "Yes."

* * *

At lunch he seeks out Scotty and Bones and Chekov and Sulu. They're all sitting outside on the grass, and Jim lies next to them, face upturned to the sun. "How was lessons?" someone asks - sounds like Sulu - and Jim shrugs.

"I'll be fine." It's true - he will be fine. Fine's a relative term, though, and for him - he will be fine. For someone else? Yeah, maybe not.

"We have power checking lessons this afternoon," Bones says, and there is a unanimous groan at that.

"What happens if I don't know my mutation?"

Chekov is the only one to speak. "You'll have to visit Spock. When he's back." The if hangs in the air, unheard but noticed nevertheless. If he comes back.

"What's... what's he doing, anyway?" Jim asks, shuffling a little to sit upright. "I mean - he doesn't even have time to meet his new roommate or anything. And - and what's a Human doing on Vulcan?"

Sulu and Chekov shoot each other a look of complete and utter enthralment - like they've just won the lottery. Jim shoots Bones a disturbed glance. Thankfully, Bones returns it.

"What's that look for?" Jim asks somewhat nervously.

"You'll find out," is all Sulu says, not mysteriously at all.

"Seriously, everyone hiding shit is so laaame," Jim groans, and even Bones manages to laugh at that.

* * *

Since he has nothing better to do, and since he can't work out his powers on his own, Jim elects to go back to the library. It's not as empty as it could be, but Jim finds the paperback he had stashed away for later reading and glances around.

The Vulcan guy isn't there, and Jim bites his lip and sighs; runs a hand through his hair. He doesn't particularly want to go outside - it's scorching out there, and the last time he had gotten burnt it wasn't the most enjoyable of experiences. He considers it for a moment, and yeah - it's probably the most sensible decision - so without hesitance, paperback in hand, Jim decides to head to his room.

It's empty - as usual - so Jim toes off his shoes, wriggles his bare feet and settles down on his bed to read. He switches on his bedside lamp, tucking his knees in close, focusing on the problems and worries of someone else for a while. What's the word? Escapism.

He's not sure when he falls asleep.

* * *

But when he wakes up, it is to the sound of someone breathing in the room with him.

He thrashes for a moment, the sound unfamiliar and loud and he feels the panic rise up inside of him. He fumbles around for a weapon but the best thing he can get his hands on is the paperback and yeah, okay, a paper book. That's kind of a pathetic mode of self defence. Even his ancient PADD would be better.

He stills, clutching it, book poised for any unwanted movement, eyes slowly adjusting to the dark. When they finally refocus, he blinks for a moment, identifying the source of the breathing.

He presumes his roommate is here.

For all Jim knows, the person may not actually be his roommate. The one that's right there. That came in while he was sleeping.

Yeah; that thought's a little bit more than freaky, and in a habit of panic, fumbles for his backpack. Still there. When he shoves his hand inside, all the confectionaries are still there too. The relief that pours into him shouldn't be relief but it is, and it makes him feel slightly guilty, too.

So. There's a sleeping person in his room, and he can't see the person in the dark. He could panic and run screaming, but that seems like a little bit of an overreaction.

He sees two options here. Option one: leave.

Option two: turn the light on.

The irrational and rational parts of his brain seem to have a seminar on this, debate it for a few moments, and ultimately agree. After all, if the guy wakes up then he could just apologise and go for a pee or something. If the guy doesn't wake up - that's even better.

He flicks the bedside lamp on, wincing as it illuminates the room to an almost painful degree in contrast to the darkness, and waits for his eyes to refocus. Eventually, they do.

Oh. Oh. It's the Vulcan guy. The pretty one from the library; the one that Jim had offered his help to.

It makes more sense than it should. He had gone to Vulcan - because he was a Vulcan - and the being-able-to-tell-powers thing? Jim had presumed that was his mutation, but Vulcans have a freaky mind-read-y-thingy, and really, it's far too early to be thinking complicated thoughts. But it does make an innate amount of sense. He should have pieced it together, really.

The Vulcan is mussed in sleep - adorably so - and Jim's heart shouldn't be aching in his chest. No. That's stupid. This dude has lied to him (well, not directly, a little part of him points out) and he hadn't even slept in the room for fucking ages or had the courtesy to even greet him (he was in the library, that same little part suggests) and Jim just wishes his own fucking head wouldn't betray him so often because it's annoying. Really annoying.

He makes a tiny noise in sleep and his brow furrows. He worms deeper into the sheets, one hand coming to rest under the pillow, and within minutes his breathing is easy and regular again. Jim's pretty sure his heart's been stolen.

The darkness pulls him away, and for the first time in a long time, he doesn't feel terrified while sleeping.

* * *

**Well, this is an early birthday present from me to you guys! I'm turning sixteen tomorrow.**

**Hope you enjoyed the fic! Thank you so much for all your kind words and encouragement. **


	5. v

**If you're triggered by Tarsus, or anything like that, please be careful this chapter! uwu**

* * *

**v.**

* * *

He's asleep one second and awake the next; no lazy transition from asleep to awake. One second he is unconscious, and the next, he is not. It is easy to wake up in that regard.

There is someone else in his room. That is the difficult part.

He's not focusing on Jim, actually - Spock looks like he's just woken up too. There's a green flush on his high cheekbones and he's sat up. His hair is a mess, sheets also messy from sleep, and if Jim could take a photo of this, he would.

But everything makes sense now. What everyone was saying about Spock - about visiting Vulcan; about the strange runes scrawled on the wall. Spock is a Vulcan. It's kind of obvious in hindsight, but then again, life is easier in hindsight.

Spock wasn't there because he was visiting his home planet. The language scrawled on the chalkboard is Vulcan. It makes sense now.

And there's other realisations, too - the reason Spock can tell what powers people have. Vulcans can see into people's minds. He doesn't doubt that the reason Spock can tell mutations is because of this; a glance into his head, and bam.

He doesn't want someone in his head. He doesn't want to have to re-live Tarsus, or let someone else re-live it either. Not ever.

Maybe he won't get the choice.

There is the sound of a yawn, and Jim finds himself jolting out of his thoughts.

Vulcans, he quickly decides, are not dangerous or scary. This one, in fact, is goddamn adorable. He's still looking sleepy, and stretches a little. Jim glances away, embarrassed; he is staring, after all, and he can't have thoughts like that about his roommate. That... no.

However, without preamble Spock's sleepy gaze focuses on his face. Jim finds his eyes dragged back up to meet Spock's.

For a moment, he feels as though he is being stripped away, layer by layer, and then Spock speaks. "You are Jim Kirk."

"Yeah."

Spock inclines his head, and then stretches, apparently absolutely fine with Jim's presence. "I apologise for not meeting you earlier." A glimpse of something crosses his face - regret, perhaps? "However, circumstances dictated I could not do so. However now that situation has been rectified, I will be in many of the lessons that you are in."

The surprise at learning that Spock will be joining him in lessons is rather short lived - after all, if he did not have some good reason for being at the school, he wouldn't be. Jim considers asking him about it - about what happened, or why he couldn't go to lessons - but Spock has already gotten out of bed and is dressed before he can even start to formulate a reply.

By the time he's thought of something to say and has worked up the nerve to say it, the door has gently clicked behind him and Spock is gone.

* * *

He dozes through the day, barely paying attention. Of course the teachers get pissed off with him, but he was called the only genius in Riverside for a reason, and he knows how to placate them before his mouth even opens.

At lunch, he sits with Bones and picks at his food. He laughs when obligated, of course, but his thoughts keep wandering, and when Uhura and Spock find a table and sit together, he makes a plan to know his roommate better.

(He will later say it was because he needed to make sure the guy wasn't going to murder him, but it's curiosity, plain and simple. And Jim Kirk is good at being curious.)

* * *

He sees Spock in lessons - fleetingly in the library - and although he is determined to wake up before the Vulcan the next morning, all he wakes up to is the sound of his own breathing.

The nightmares are back.

He sits there as the sheets go cold around him, and wonders if this is normal.

* * *

The days pass faster than he can count them, and Jim finds himself settling into a routine. He's walking to breakfast, teasing Bones about something - he's not even sure what, but his reactions are funnier than should be allowed, and Jim is a professional wind up merchant. Without warning, just before they enter the dining hall, Bones pulls him to one side.

His eyes are brown and intense, bright in comparison to dark eyebrows, and there's worry there. He's gotten good at reading Bones - actually, at reading people due to no more forced isolation - and yes. That's worry.

"Something happened to you," he says, and his hand very gently lifts off Jim's shoulder. "Something really bad." His usual drawl is punctuated with something other than sarcasm, and Jim can feel his throat close up; his hands clench into tight fists, almost despite himself.

"No - really, I'm fine-" he attempts to laugh it off, but Bones just rolls his eyes, and the situation is just so normal for them he can't help but laugh. Everything is so intense at this school - normality has miraculously appeared in less than a month - but then, all of them have had something missing, for the longest of times. It is, perhaps, at this school, that they find family.

"Jim," Bones says quietly, "something bad happened to you, and I'm not gonna ask. But you should tell me." Before Jim can even interject he speaks again - "but only when you're ready, kid."

Two arms come around and rest on his shoulders, and Jim finds his face tugged into Bones' chest, and he almost complains - almost shakes it off - but he hasn't been held like this in forever, and for a moment, he relaxes.

"You're a good kid, Jim." Bones' voice is thick. "No matter what's ever happened to you, remember that."

He's released after that, but the interaction lingers on his mind far longer than he expects it to.

* * *

He talks far more at mealtimes, comfortable for maybe the first time ever, but he can't help it if his eyes skip over to the table in the corner with the two of them sat there, mouths moving quietly. He can't hear a word they're saying, or even lip-read, but they're comfortable around each other. Happy..

And Bones claps him on the back, laughing uproariously, and Jim realises that he actually needs to do something about this, because he can't stare into the middle distance forever.

* * *

It takes him another week of empty bedrooms and waking up in the middle of the night just to hear the sound of another person breathing before he works up the courage to put his plan into action.

He finds her after class. "Sit with us." His voice is tight, and Jim's heart is pounding in his throat; holy shit, this is embarrassing.

Uhura glances up from her desk. "What?" She's much easier to find than Spock, and much less... intimidating.

Jim grimaces. He doesn't want to have to ask again - it's embarrassing enough as it is without having to repeat the question. "Will you sit with us at lunch?" Ah. This time it does sound like a question.

Her expression changes in obvious surprise but then it's gone, and she's regarding him with open suspicion. "Why are you asking?"

Jim clears his throat a little. "Well - uh - I thought you looked lonely."

She's giving him a look of open shock now - a mixture of oh my God and what the fuck.

"It's true," he defends weakly, running a hand through his hair a little nervously. "And - well, I'm trying to get Carol to sit with us too, and Bones is a nice guy, and although Sulu threatens us all with plants and swords we all know he wouldn't do it, and Chekov couldn't hurt a fly unless it was hurting Sulu - and, well, I was just wondering if you wanted to sit with us at lunch. You and Spock."

Her expression softens a little, although Jim doesn't feel any safer in her presence.

"Why?" she asks. Her tone sounds awfully close to acceptance, and Jim feels excitement run through him.

"Because I want to have some friends," he laughs, and it's only half the truth. But it is some of the truth, and it's the best he can do right now.

She considers it for a long moment, and he feels like he's under the spotlight again before unexpectedly, Uhura nods. He wants to hug her just to see her reaction.

Thankfully, Jim Kirk values his continued existence, albeit somewhat poorly, so he doesn't.

* * *

His plan works. At lunch, Jim glares at Bones in warning but Chekov and Sulu are all smiles as Spock and Uhura sit down. Within minutes they're in a playful discussion, including Bones, who magically perks up the moment that Carol comes to sit with them.

Spock picks at his food, and Jim decides that yeah, this probably isn't normal in terms of the real world, but he's surrounded by people who are laughing and smiling and like his company just because they like his company, and if it's illegal to want other people to be happy then - well, so be it. Because everything is intense here, and somehow far more real than anything else in his life had ever been.

It wasn't a complaint.

* * *

He doesn't talk to Spock for another week and a half, and he and Uhura are regularly sitting at their table now - and Scotty joins them too (at least when he's not hacking into the school's mainframe and making every screen show a photo of a different sandwich, and requesting that they be delivered to him else he'll mess something else up, next - just give me a moment to think of it, okay lad?).

Carol sits with them too, and she's not haughty - just reserved - and really, Jim can't criticise that, especially when every fucking person in the school appears to be absolutely batshit insane in one way or another (including himself). She doesn't speak much, and she's not quite a friend, but she's there. That's probably important in itself.

But really - Spock is the one to talk to him. He and Uhura and Jim are just sat there, because schedules are odd and the lady who teaches xenolinguistics likes to let them out early, and without any prompting, Spock speaks.

"I thought you would have asked to know your mutation already." His voice is clear and steady, and Uhura keeps mildly eating, but Jim does his best not to recoil because - well, because since however long ago it was. Ages ago.

"Uh," Jim stutters. Yeah. Not much he can really say. "Well - you didn't offer to tell me." He pauses for a second; takes a gulp of his drink to give him more time because dark eyes have settled on him and he feels like he's being stripped away for the second time. Maybe it's a Vulcan talent. "I didn't - want to overstep my boundaries or anything." He continues before anyone can even hope to interject, the words rushing out. "And - uh - well, I'm not sure if I should know. Like - it's not obvious - and I haven't worked it out yet, and maybe I should work it out before I let anyone else work it out."

Even Uhura's staring now, and that's two sets of eyes inspecting him (and that's two pairs too many), so he grins as though he is nonchalance personified and goes back to his food, relief rushing through him when Chekov joins them.

Spock, apparently, isn't done. "Are you sure about that, Mr Kirk, because-"

"It's Jim. Mr Kirk - well, he was my dad, and you know how well that turned out." Maybe his laugh is a little too bitter. Oops.

Spock continues like Jim hasn't even spoken. "-Because otherwise it may include having rigorous mutation testing that, from what I have heard, is not preferable to touch telepathy."

Even Chekov's staring now. Fuck's sake. Jim's backed into a corner, and he knows it. He just - well. He doesn't want someone rooting around in his head.

"No, seriously," he laughs, and it even sounds brittle to his own ears, "I'll take the testing. But thanks anyway." He's not going to tell them why, and when Bones appears, he launches into a debate about something stupid, but maybe Bones can see the panic in his eyes, so he doesn't press Jim on the subject. He's glad for it.

* * *

What does happen, is that Jim grabs some toast at the breakfast hall, ignores the stares he gets and waits outside Bones' room, it burning his hands, pacing nervously. The moment the door opens and he knows it's Leonard, he grabs him, dragging him away without a moment's notice.

He's gotten good at the whole 'finding hiding places in the library' deal, which sounds like something out of Harry Potter, but he has - so he drags Bones into a cubbyhole and passes over the toast. It's smothered in jam, and butter, and Jim hands it over willingly, licking a bit of strawberry off the crease of his hand.

"This better be good, kid," Bones warns, taking a large bite of the toast.

Jim swallows shallowly, and Bones' expression relaxes. He almost looks as though he wants to pat Jim on the head, or hug him, but the jam on the toast looks dangerously close to slipping off so Jim thinks he'll pass this time.

"It is," he confirms with a shrug, and takes a deep breath in. He's never - actually had to say this. To anyone. "You know - you know Tarsus four." He gets a nod of confirmation, so Jim tries his best to ignore his racing heart and shaking hands and attempts to get words past his throat.

"Me and Winona - my mom - we've never been close. Mainly because - well, you know how I was born. Everyone - everyone knows it. My brother - Sam - disappeared when I was like - oh, man, eleven or twelve, and my mom remarried." He pauses. It's hard, dredging up Iowa from his head.

He'd thought he'd escaped. Maybe not.

"The guy's name was - well, is - Frank. And - well, Frank was the reason Sam ran away." He focuses his eyes on the bookshelf behind Bones' head, not daring to meet his expression because there'll be pity there, or apology, and he doesn't want either of them. "And - well, Frank and Sam didn't get along too well, and then when Sam was done, Frank would - well, he'd like lock me in cupboards. And not let me eat. He never... did anything to me. He was just a piece of shit.

"And, uh, one day, Frank decided that he'd - he wanted me to call him Dad when Winona was home. You can imagine how that went down. So the moment she was offplanet - because she was offplanet a lot; trying to escape the shards of a broken family, I don't doubt - I took out George's car. And drove it over a cliff."

He almost meets Bones' gaze for a split second, and there's a bit of jam on his shirt, and Jim has the almost overwhelming reaction to laugh because all he wants to do is curl in a corner and cry but he can't do that, because this is the real world and the real world has to be faced some time or another.

"Uh - mom was pissed. So I got sent off on the first shuttle to Tarsus four. Cuz, you know, she was too busy to even come home for her only son." He shrugged. "At first it was okay - like, they had a bunch of smart kids there so I fit in pretty well - and then there were like, murmurs. Less food. There would be rationing. But hey, I was getting more food than I'd ever had in Iowa if i didn't steal it out the fields - which I kind of did, by the way - so rationing was fine." His chest is hurting; Jim's ribcage is about to cave in on him, but he has to continue. He has to finish. It's like the story is pouring out of him now. All the things he couldn't say to twelve psychologists, and he's telling it to a person he's barely knows.

He's pretty sure Bones doesn't have the inclination to repeat it though.

"At first it was fine. And then people - disappeared. Not like, said they were going away - they just disappeared. Every house on every street in the nearest town was empty, doors open. And then, when you went inside-" he pauses for a long moment, and he can almost smell it, watch as the flies buzzed up around him like a maelstrom. Their lifeless eyes, faces frozen in shock, blood everywhere.

His voice is shaky when he speaks again. "We got a message from Kodos. That - that there was enough food left for the rest of us - that four thousand of us had been murdered for the greater good." He laughs, and it's raw, and it aches. "But - it didn't stay like that. People panicked." His tone is almost conversational when he continues. "Do you know what it's like when you have a phaser pressed to the back of your skull, you can feel the slight jolts of electricity? So - so they killed my host parents, and all the other smart kids, and whoever shot me had me set to stun. And when I woke up - when I woke up, the house was on fire. I'm still not sure how I managed to get out, or survive for all that time, but I did.

"And - and this is the worst bit, Bones. I saved kids. I did it. I was good. I was the last piece of moralistic shit left in that place. And - and I couldn't keep them alive." He can feel the tears, hot and wet and warm, and then Bones' arms are around him, pressing him close, and Jim barely manages to cling on as he sobs and sobs and sobs, and wishes that the anger he feels in himself would just pour away, down the drain.

He doesn't go to lessons that day, and neither does Bones, and when he can finally find it within himself to go sit and act like everything is normal and he is fine and sane and didn't live through mass genocide, eyes raw and red and hair a mess, no-one says a thing.

If he sees their faces pinch with worry - no-one says a thing about that, either.

* * *

**I'm also sorry for rocking up with such a late update. xP I've gotten really lethargic lately so I'm doing my best to curdle it.**


	6. vi

**vi.**

* * *

And for the first time in his life, Jim finds himself living.

Bones doesn't mention their talk, and he never gets any pitying looks from him - and for that, Jim is more grateful than he can even begin to express - but when it gets really difficult, and the nightmares are real and strong and bitter in the back of his throat Bones holds him close, and Jim just holds on.

Bones, without a doubt, is his best friend.

And Chekov - he's more perceptive than he seems. He keeps up a constant flow of distractions on the bad days - "'Karu needs help in his fencing"; "Nyota wants to practice her Klingon on someone, and I chose you!"; "Your Russian accent is awful (how did you learn Russian anyway?)"; "Mister Scotty wants to hack into the computers." How Chekov knows which days are the bad days, Jim's not even sure, but he's grateful regardless.

And despite it all - despite his friends, who call themselves such, who are always happy to help, offering up their friendship in whatever way they can manage, there are lots of bad days. The bad days don't seem as bad as they once were.

There's still one person he's not sure of. Spock.

"How come a Vulcan even comes to this school anyway?" Jim absentmindedly pokes at his meal with a fork, glancing around. There's no Scotty or Uhura tonight; the former because he had been successful with his hacking into the computers with the assistance of his mutation, and the latter because... well, because.

(Jim gets the feeling Uhura disproves of him somehow. Maybe it's because of his secret mutation, or his lazy intelligence. She shoots him glances sometimes, frowning obvious, but she helps him anyway, and is as kind to him as she is to anyone else. He wants to fix whatever he's done wrong in her eyes and isn't sure how to.)

He'd been thinking about why Spock - a Vulcan - would even need to come to Pike's special school, especially considering only Humans were able to mutate - at least, that was the impression he garnered from overheard grown-up discussions and his talk with Pike. That no other species in the universe had mutated like this. Least of all Vulcans. He wouldn't have been too surprised if they could control their evolutionary path, or some shit akin to that.

Chekov looks at him, deadly serious for a second, and Jim meets his gaze with no small amount of worry because you rarely see the kid unhappy. To see him without his trademark grin on his face is - off. "His mother is Human," is what he says quietly, and even Bones has stopped eating now and is listening in, frown present on his forehead. "Spock's mother - she is still on Vulcan."

Oh. Oh.

It takes mere seconds for everything to click together in Jim's head.

Why Spock's always in the library. Why he rarely goes to lessons. Why Uhura talks to him quietly when she thinks no-one else is watching. Perhaps - perhaps, why she frowns at him sometimes.

Because, Jim realises with startling clarity, even for him, Spock's mom is on Vulcan, and she's human, and Spock wants to get her home. That's why. It just - clicks.

Jim doubts that any humans could ever be happy on Vulcan, and Spock - Spock isn't even the Vulcaniest Vulcan if he's half Human. It's his Human side that's given him his powers, and it's his Human side that wants to get her home.

Although he hates it, he feels pity.

He kind of wishes he could love his mom like that. Apparently half-Human, half-Vulcan hybrids can, and Vulcans are uptight bastards. Not that Jim would actually... know. He'd like to know. It just seems he isn't going to get the chance to.

Jim glances at Bones, mouth a tight line, and no-one says anything when Jim stands up, shoving his chair under the table. They all know where he's going, even if he's not sure why he's going there.

The library. Of course.

Spock's there. He's in lessons sometimes; sleeps in their room sometimes; just a whole lot of vague answers. Nothing definitive. It's beginning to piss him off.

With a bitten back sigh, Jim heads over to where Spock is sat, sitting opposite him, making sure to scrape the chair obnoxiously on the wooden floor.

Spock doesn't look up. He doesn't even move from where he's reading on the page, actually.

Bastard.

Jim clears his throat. "I'm going to help." It's a statement. Not a question. Just - he is.

Spock pauses; puts a bookmark in the book, and then his eyes flick up to meet Jim's. "Excuse me?"

"I'm going to help," Jim repeats. "Get your mom to Earth," he adds, in case he needs clarity. "You have no choice." He's staring down at the table all of a sudden, so with what feels like a great force of will, he looks up to meet his eyes again.

Spock looks a mixture of confused and amazed, and Jim struggles to keep a straight face. It's - well, Jim won't admit it on pain of Bones threatening him with hypos (empty threats, but Jim has no doubt they won't be that way for much longer) - but it's cute. His expression. Adorable.

"How - did you work it out?" Spock asks, and his tone is cool; controlled, and the emotion that had ran so rampantly across his face merely seconds ago.

Jim shrugs. At least Spock isn't trying to offend him, by asking who told. No-one would tell. He hasn't been at the school for long, and his own personal demons have been aired far sooner than he'd prefer them to (as in, if he had any choice, he'd have clutched them close to his chest for the rest of time), but he knows that no-one will actually say anything nasty about it. It'll be passed around in hushed tones, but it'll never be mocked.

"I just want to help," Jim states in the silence, and then stands up, chair loud in the otherwise silent room. He grabs some books - whichever titles look even vaguely relevant - and sits back down.

Spock's staring, somewhat openly. "You can't help-"

"I'm helping right now," Jim says, and he's not cold about the whole thing. He'd hate to be cold. No - he's just... being honest. Brutally so, perhaps, but honest all the same.

"I've read all the books in here." A poor attempt at diversion.

"You wouldn't still be in here if you hadn't read everything already. I mean - I think you'll have gotten everything you can off the Internet, so books are your only hope - right?"

Spock's expression tells him everything he needs to know, but he glances back down at his book, and continues to read. He's giving off an air of serene content, but his shoulders are too tense; his posture too rigid for him truly to be at ease.

Jim hides a smile, and begins to read.

* * *

There are new lessons in school, too. There's one on how to be a mutant, run by a woman with super-hearing. Jim thinks, personally, it could be titled better, especially considering he's been a mutant for sixteen years now. Bones rolls his eyes and tells him to shut up.

The teacher warns them all that there are going to be differences in their lives to other people (read as: normal people), and they are going to be expected to hide them. Being different, she warns, is bad. Not always bad - but bad a lot of the time.

"Are there any questions?" he asks at the end of the session, glancing around the room for raised hands.

There's one. It's Chekov.

"What about Nero?" he asks, accent flat, tone deadpan, and her face just crumples; breaks down.

"I... I don't know." She can't be much older than them. This room of old souls in young bodies. "You'll have to ask Professor Pike."

Chekov nods. The room erupts into murmurs, Jim along with them.

* * *

Operation Befriend Spock Whether He Likes It Or Not is a gradual thing. Jim could wax poetic about the subtleties and intrinsic plans, but there aren't any, so he settles with talking to Bones about him. It's a good compromise.

"He looked really surprised," Jim laughs over breakfast. "I don't think anyone's really actively attempted to make friends with him before."

Bones' cereal is falling off his spoon but he makes no attempt to recover it. "What about Uhura, then?"

Jim shrugs. "I don't know." He's not going to lie about it, after all. "I think - they just sort of became friends. Like us." He shoves Bones' shoulder playfully, and Bones shoots him a death glare that would make weaker men (and Chekov) almost grow to tears.

Not that Chekov had actually cried. The kid's far more manipulative and smart than anyone seems to think of him as. He knows exactly what he's doing, and exactly how to do it.

The bell rings, and the two of them get to their feet, Bones half-heartedly threatening Jim with hypos and other medical equipment.

The death glare isn't scary. Bones with a vicious streak, meanwhile, is.

* * *

"Who's Nero?" Jim asks loudly, brandishing his fork almost with a deathwish. Bones deftly dodges the stabbed piece of chicken and rolls his eyes, shoving Jim not too gently.

"He is... a person who doesn't like us," Sulu says carefully, glancing around the room. No-one is outright staring, but it's almost as if everyone is carefully listening. Especially the adults. "We don't know much else," he adds, tone almost - empty.

Chekov shoots Jim a careful look, and he nods carefully. A not-secret.

He's good at those.

* * *

Every evening, after lessons, which just seem to merge into each other, one after another after another, Jim hurries to the library. Spock's been there the last few nights, and tonight is no exception. Jim plucks out a book and sits opposite him, in the same seat that he always sits in, quiet and content and happy to help.

When it's time for them to go and eat, Spock murmurs a thank you. Jim's grin is blazing. It's a start.

* * *

"He is a man that wants to hurt mutants," Chekov explains quickly between lessons. "Nero has never liked us, and never liked Professor Pike very much either."

* * *

Between lessons and sleeping and staring at the chocolate under his bed, wishing he could get rid of it, Jim aches to know what his mutation is.

He daren't ask yet.

* * *

"You can't talk about Nero," Uhura warns, and then she disappears, long hair swishing behind her dangerously. He watches her go, and wonders.

* * *

He's not sure when he gets comfortable around Spock. Actually, if Jim's entirely honest, he's not exactly sure when Spock became comfortable around him. Because considering he's a Vulcan (half-Vulcan, a little voice amends in his head) he's pretty - relaxed.

He doesn't smile, but his eyes glint, crinkling up at the corners every time Jim says something clever, or stupid, or witty, or punny. He does the latter a lot, and laughs a lot more, too, and just finds that his heart doesn't constrict so much in his chest when he thinks about his mom. Because there is a lot of mom-hunting, and if there was any way to get used to Winona, Jim is pretty sure he would have chosen this any day.

And when, one lunchtime, when Bones is talking about - well, something, and no-one's really listening, and Spock interrupts with a sharp, deadpan: "Fascinating," and continues his lunch like nothing's happened, even Bones can't help but smirk a bit. Jim laughs the loudest.

He's funny. How could he not have noticed that?

* * *

It's seems like years since Iowa, and decades since Tarsus. Spock sleeps every night, and eats, and the bags under his eyes are reduced, and he seems more amused. They're friends. It's tentative, and breakable, but it's a start.

"I want to know what my power is," Jim blurts unexpectedly one library-session, and Spock moves so quickly Jim's sure he got whiplash.

"I thought you didn't want to know," he states, and there is incredulity in his tone. "At least - that was what you told me."

Jim swallows and glances down at his book, fingers drumming on the table. "I didn't want - anyone - going through my head. Like - with the Vulcan mind-powers shit." He wiggles his fingers for emphasis. "But you're my friend. And, uh, I guess I want to know."

"You keep confectionary under your bed," Spock says, quite calmly, as though that explains everything.

Jim feels his mouth go dry and blood rush to his face. "You - you looked through my things?!" It hurts more than he was expecting. God, why is everything so intense here? It's the worst.

Spock looks hurt for a moment, and shakes his head carefully. "No - I would never go through your possessions. However, Leonard did warn me about your... habit." His mouth flattens into a hard line, and there's no mocking there; no face sincerity. It's just fact. Like saying that Spock's skin is the slightest, palest shade of green.

There's no real response to that, so Jim just nods carefully. If Spock's going to tell it as truth, then Jim will accept it. He may not like it - but he'll accept it. "So - will you tell me my power?"

"Right now?" His head tilts ever so slightly to one side, and Jim keeps a smile off his face. It's kind of adorable.

"You don't need to prepare?" The amount of innuendo that could be wrung from the question is immense, but Jim bottles it down. He hadn't expected it to be done right away...

"No." Oh. Well then.

"What do I need to do?"

"Just stay there." Spock almost looks like he's about to laugh at the nervousness on Jim's face. Leaning over the desk, his hand brushes Jim's face; the gentlest of touches; and he automatically tenses, but before he can even begin to back out, Spock murmurs something, and then there's a tug - and it's so very strange - and then somehow, there's Spock. In his head.

If you want to keep/hide/stow anything/memories/ideas/thoughts away from me, Spock's voice says, in his head, simply imagine it behind a closed door/locked gate/moat. The ideas come through faster than Jim can pick up - it's as though he's thinking these things himself, except he's not.

Regardless, he rushes to the task, stowing things away. Tarsus, setting a hospital bed on fire, Frank, his mom. He imagines closing strong, wooden doors on each of them, and there is simply a sense of correct coming from Spock. God, it's weird. Really weird.

I will simply need to go into a part/section/door in your head. Please do not panic/worry/I will not hurt you/I promise.

And then the oddest thing yet - he pushes, quite gently, against Jim's head, and for a moment he can feel the fingertips on his face, and then he sucks in a breath between clenched teeth, whole body tensing, because it doesn't hurt - (and Spock's mind agrees; pushing on tight muscles/stretching after a long nap/getting an ear pierced and he kind of desperately wants to ask about the latter - but then, maybe not) - and there's a rush of information.

He hitches in a breath, sucked between his teeth, and it's all been kind of painfully obvious, but something in him just clicks, and there is a sense of satisfaction/content/happiness from Spock and then he is gone.

When Jim opens his eyes again, he can't help but grin. And Spock's grinning back, in his own quiet way.

* * *

"What's gotten you so happy this morning?" Bones asks, cynical edge layered into his tone. He looks grumpy, like every morning, and is nursing a cup of coffee so strong it would make eyes water. Even Chekov, professional coffee devourer, had turned his nose up at the mixture.

"Nothing," Jim grins. Picture of innocent. Apart from the fact he totally knows his mutation now, and it's totally cool, and he's not gonna tell anyone. Maybe.

"You're like a cat who got the canary," Sulu adds somewhat unhelpfully. The plant this morning is a cactus, apparently - a particularly pathetic one - and Sulu keeps petting it and feeding it drops of a disgusting smelling mixture in a sacrificial teacup. It does seem to be perking up, though, so that's good.

"What is it?" Bones drawls out, and even Uhura's looked away from her quiet talking with Spock, all of them at the table watching him and his shit-eating grin.

"Well..." he drawls, "I asked Spock yesterday what my mutation was. And he told me." In a fit of fake nonchalance, he returns to his food as though nothing has happened.

"What the fuck is it?" Bones grinds out, clearly not in a good mood this morning.

Jim sighs, mock long suffering, but bites the bullet anyway. "I'm an amplifier," he explains. "When I touch you, I enhance your powers. Like - I make you better at what you do best." It's kind of a lame ass power in comparison to, say, being able to make plants grow at your whim, but it's pretty cool in Jim's opinion. He can help these people - these children - against whatever they need help with.

And the table erupts in excited chatter, phrases echoing around the hall within minutes, and Jim meets Spock's eyes, and grins. He gets the hint of a smile in return. Jim finds it's enough.

* * *

**Oh, man, I'm so sorry guys! I've been away for so long - I'm super, super sorry.**

**I went on holiday to Majorca for a week and there was no internet, and I lost my muse, and then me and my best friend started organising cosplay... but I'm back now - hopefully for a while. c:**

**What have you guys been up to? Feel free to tell me!**

**Hope you enjoyed the chapter, and if you notice any mistakes, etc, please tell me!**


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